


What can I say? I'm a Work-In-Progress

by aukibs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But a very serious parody, Fem!Harry, Harry is a wicked baker, Harry lives with the Dursleys, Kind of a parody, WBWL, Wrong-Boy-Who-Lived, also at least one of these tags is deceiving, and she is not an angstmobile, and she won't take any of this "you're special!" nonsense, twin!harry, typical eleven year-old behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-31 14:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12134598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aukibs/pseuds/aukibs
Summary: Fourth resident of Number Four, Privet Drive, and amateur baker, Harriet Potter is going to bust up the wizarding world! Dumb luck, dumb kids, and dumb jokes, WIP is a wrong-boy-who-lived story with a twist. Or maybe a dozen.





	1. There once was a boy named Harry... Wait, scratch that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something a little different about this world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16/10/17  
> Hello! It's been over a month (I think) since I posted the first chapter of this story and I have only just gotten around to putting a note in here at the beginning. I've also made some minor edits to the formatting.  
> This is my first Harry Potter story on AO3, and it's a sort of plot-driven parody of many of the tropes that go around Harry Potter fanfiction, particularly on fanfiction.net. I hope you enjoy it!

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys has woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun still rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the big brass number four on the Dursleys’ front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night Mr Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bobble hats - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. But there were also a photograph of a girl, with messy black hair, grinning widely as she rode her own bicycle.

At that very moment, Harriet Potter was asleep, but not for much longer.

“Harriet!”

Harriet woke up, ignoring her aunt and rolling over.

“Harriet, wake up!”

She huffed as she rolled over once again, pulling the covers over her head to block out that _damn annoying bright Sunday morning sunlight_. 

“HARRIET, FOR GOODNESS SAKE CHILD, WAKE UP!”

Rolling over once more, she fell to the floor with a thud.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get, you lazy girl,” her aunt said affectionately as she stood at the door, “Now come on, do the bacon for your aunt. Heaven knows I’ll burn it and ruin Duddy-kins’ birthday.”

Harriet rolled her eyes, but answered, “Yes, Aunt Petunia. I’ll do the bacon so we won’t ruin… _Duddy-_ kins’ birthday. Just give me a couple of minutes.”

She got off the floor and piled her covers onto the bed again before making her bed neat.

Harriet showered quickly and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. She shuddered a bit- it was slightly cold, even for a summer morning. She threw on a thin blue sweater that was once Aunt Petunia’s and trudged down the stairs, comforting herself with the thought that the next day she would spend a nice long time in the bath, flourishing in the amount of the Dursleys’ money she was wasting.

As usual, the table was piled high with Dudley’s presents. It looked like Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, along with the second television and the racing bike. Why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery, as Dudley was fat and hated exercise.

Aunt Petunia had already made some toast and baked beans (the only thing that she could cook brilliantly) but Harriet was left to do the bacon and the eggs. Harriet started frying the bacon. She made sure to pile Dudley’s plate full of bacon, giving everyone else much less.

She fried the bacon and then made the eggs- four sunny side up fried eggs, and four scrambled eggs. They had always argued over which was better, Dudley and Uncle Vernon preferring fried eggs while Harriet and Aunt Petunia liking scrambled eggs better. “It’s an Evans trait,” Aunt Petunia had quickly pronounced.

After cooking the food, she somehow managed to set it all out onto the table, piling and stacking the presents even more.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harriet sat down to eat.

“Care to say why you’ve given me…” Uncle Vernon looked down, “half as much bacon as I want?” He looked back up at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s Dudley’s birthday.” Harriet said, “Therefore half the bacon must be his.”

Uncle Vernon shrugged and started on his food. “Mind you, you’d better make this up on _my_ birthday, brat.”

Just as Harriet started on her eggs, Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and a thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. 

“Happy birthday, darling cousin Dudley,” Harriet said as he sat down.

“Happy birthday, darling cousin Harriet,” Dudley replied. Harriet rolled her eyes.

“My birthday’s not for another month, silly. And I’ve told you only about a hundred dozen times - it’s _Harry_. Harriet is a right snuffy name.”

Dudley shrugged as he started on his food. “Alright then, _Harriet_ , happy _early_ birthday,” he said around a mouthful of food. Harriet wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Ah, but Harriet is a good old name,” said Aunt Petunia, “Far more appropriate for a girl than…” her face twisted, “ _Harry_.”

Harriet rolled her eyes, and finished her food and washed her plate before returning to the table, where Dudley had finished his food and was now counting presents. His face fell.

“Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father, “That’s two less than last year.”

“Darling, you haven’t counted Aunt Marge’s present, see, it’s under this big one from Mummy and Daddy.”

“Alright, thirty-seven, then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Harriet, who could sense a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, hurriedly said she needed to start her maths homework before darting up the stairs. She heard her aunt promising Dudley another two presents as she shut the door to her bedroom.

Sighing, Harriet sat down. How _lucky_ Dudley was, to get thirty-nine presents. Harriet wondered if she’d get that many in her _life_. Well, perhaps Dudley wasn’t so lucky. He was getting spoiled and spoiled people were rude and arrogant and thought they should always get what they wanted.

Her aunt and uncle didn’t shower her with love, but they did like her… at least, her aunt did… sort of… although that was more due to her resentment for _dear_ Lily Potter. They treated her like she was a temporary guest, because, well, she was. Once she hit 18 she was getting out of here and never looking back - okay, maybe once or twice, Christmas cards and whatnot - but it was all in the thought, of course.

Harriet was perfectly fine with that. Definitely. And was not bitter about her parents abandoning her in the slightest.

Ever since she was young, her aunt had made it known that her parents didn’t want her, which was why they sent her to live with them. 

“They left you on our doorstep,” she would say, her face twisting with anger, “On the first of November. They didn’t want you, they said. They needed to take care of your brother, and you were simply… in the way.”

Harriet figured that her brother was probably spoiled too.

It seemed even the slightest mention of her parents was enough to make Uncle Vernon’s face turn red, and Aunt Petunia give a disdainful sniff. Even Dudley knew something about what was going on, too, because every time the topic was brought up he’d tell Harriet she was way better than _those folks_ anyways, which wasn’t saying much, because Dudley treated her like one would treat weeds growing in their backyard, which is to say that he didn’t like her very much, but couldn’t be bothered to get rid of her.

She lay down flat on her bed and gazed up at her room. The furniture, floor, and door were all whitewashed. The walls were a light blue-grey colour, the same as the covers on her bed and the curtains. The lamps, when lit, glowed a warm yellow colour, and Harriet quite liked her room.

It was comfy, somewhere she wouldn’t mind staying temporarily, for a holiday, but it was never quite _hers_. It was never quite _home_.

“Harriet?” her aunt called, “We’re going to the zoo. You’ll be with Mrs. Figg. If you like you can deliver the cupcakes and cookies and other treats today. You can keep all the money.”

Harriet sat up. “ _All_ of it? Not 50 or 60 or 70 percent?”

“Yes, all of it. You’ll need it soon.”

Later, Harriet would fine out why she would be needing the money. But for now, Harriet felt rather blessed as she jumped off her bed and flung open the door, smiling brilliantly at her aunt. “Thank you!”

Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, you’re the baker and the delivery service, so it’s only fair.”

Harriet ran a bake sale delivery service in the neighbourhood - which may or may _not_ be legal. Every year she made a little over 200 pounds from it. So far she had made over 800 pounds from it, and after the deliveries today, she would have 20 pounds more.

Harriet piled all the treats into the basket of her rickety old bicycle, waving at her aunt hurriedly before going off to Mrs. Figg’s to drop off her bag.

“Any chance you might be able to sneak a treat in for your old babysitter?” Mrs. Figg said. Harriet rolled her eyes. “Of course, Mrs. Figg. Look, I brought you a cake.” She handed the old woman a slice of mossy green cake.

Mrs. Figg lifted an eyebrow. “Green?”

“I’ve been experimenting with food dye.” Harriet shrugged, “It’s just the colour.”

Mrs. Figg thanked her for the cake, and Harriet left on her bike to make her deliveries. What Mrs. Figg didn’t know was that Harriet had actually give her one of her more… dated products. So the cake wasn’t _actually_ dyed… Harriet didn’t have the money to waste on that sort of thing. 

Harriet’s Bake Sale Delivery Service had been running for only four years, ever since Harriet was able to bake. It was her pride and joy, and while her aunt helped her with it when she was younger, she had started to take control of it for herself. Older exchanges were recorded by in her aunt’s thin cursive in a large accounting book, but more recent entries were written down in Harriet’s neatest print.

Half an hour later, Harriet thanked Denise Finch and her little sister Abby, who had given her a pound of their allowance in exchange for a few chocolate chip cookies.

Clutching the money in her hand, Harriet rode back to Mrs. Figg’s.

“How much did you make this time, dearie?” Mrs. Figg called as she entered the living room.

“23 pounds!” Harriet said excitedly, “Well, half of it was from Miss Wendy, and you know she loves my chocolate cupcakes.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent curled up on the couch in front of the TV, watching Tom and Jerry. When it was time to go, Mrs Figg gave her five pounds for the cake and sent her off.

“Bye Mrs. Figg!” she called, “See you later!”

When she got back to number four, her aunt was already washing the dishes.

“There’s a rather large slice of meat pie on the table,” said Aunt Petunia, “Along with a bit of catsup.”

“You didn’t make it, I suppose?” Harriet said cheekily.

“No, I did not. We brought it from the restaurant at the zoo.”

Harriet ate the meat pie quickly before speaking. “I’m going to my room, Aunt Petunia, do you mind if I have an ice lolly? There are a few in the freezer.”

Aunt Petunia shrugged. “Go ahead.” She walked off to the living room.

Harriet collected the ice lolly from the freezer and retreated to her bedroom. She deposited the money into her piggy bank. She now had roughly 860 pounds from delivering things. That was a lot for a child to have, but her aunt had never let her use it, insisting that she’d “need it”. Harriet had shrugged before walking off. She’d learned not to question her aunt’s motives, or to disobey her - Aunt Petunia’s wrath was something to be feared. 

After finishing the sweet, Harriet washed up and went to bed. She smiled as she went to sleep. It had been a good day.

 

School was let out about a week after Dudley’s birthday, and Harriet spent more time doing chores and baking. She visited Mrs Figg every Tuesday and Thursday, each time with a new creation for her to try, none as old as the green cake. She made a batch of cookies and sold them all to the Finches.

Harriet rolled up to Mrs. Figg’s home on her bike. She left it out on the doorstep, knocking hurriedly before entering.

Mrs. Figg was crouched by the fire. “What are you doing, Mrs. Figg?” Harriet asked.

Mrs. Figg smiled uncertainly. “Oh, just putting out the fire. It was a bit too hot.”

Harriet stared at her. “We’re in the middle of _summer_ ,” she said with an incredulity saturating her voice.

“Anyways, what have you got for me?” Mrs. Figg asked her.

“Here we have a apple and cinnamon muffin, with a little caramel,” she handed it to Mrs. Figg, who took one bite and declared it delicious.

Harriet made her way out the door. She tried lifting the stand on her bicycle, but found that she couldn’t, it was stuck. As she bent down to fix it, she heard Mrs. Figg talk to someone. 

“Oh, that was young Harriet. She came with a muffin. It was quite good. Would you like some, Albus?”

Harriet wondered why Mrs. Figg was hiding people in her house, but then decided it was none of business, really, and rode back to number four, being careful not to veer too much to the right, lest the bike stand touch the ground and force her to stop.

When she got back to number four, she left her bicycle next to the car and entered the home. “I’m back!”

Aunt Petunia popped her head out of the kitchen. “Ah, yes, how was the muffin today?”

“I believe Mrs. Figg’s exact words were ‘the Queen of muffins’,” Harriet grinned, “I have a few left, would you like one, Aunt Petunia?”

“Of course, of course,” her aunt looked slightly worried, “I would like to talk to you about something. I’ll be in the sitting room when you’re ready.”

Harriet watched nervously as her aunt walked out of the kitchen. She took two muffins out of her backpacks and stood in the kitchen, stalling for as long as possible.

What did she want to talk to her about? Surely it wasn’t… puberty?

Harriet shuddered and shook the dreadful thought from her mind. It was something else. It had to be.

Clutching the muffins, she entered the living room. She handed her aunt a muffin, keeping the other for herself. She nibbled on it as she sat on the squishy armchair.

“You see,” Aunt Petunia said, “when your mother was your age, she received a letter on her birthday.”

Oh dear. This really was not going the way Harriet was expecting it to. Well, at least it wasn’t about… puberty. Better to listen to her mother’s chain mail story.

Aunt Petunia, unaware of Harriet’s thoughts, continued. “It was delivered by a stern woman in rectangular glasses. It invited her to go to a school, of which the woman was a professor. I am certain you will get this letter too.”

“Okay,” Harriet said uncertainly, “So?”

“The thing is, that this school was not a regular school. It didn’t teach you maths and science and English. It taught you…”

Harriet paused, leaning forward, breath held in an infinite moment. 

“…magic.”

Harriet choked on her muffin and started coughing. After 15 seconds of this, Petunia fetched her a glass of water, and she stopped coughing.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, “ _Magic_?”

Aunt Petunia nodded. “Magic, indeed. I can’t explain it to you, because I don’t have it myself. But on your birthday someone will likely come and explain magic to you, and bring you for school shopping, should you choose to go.”

“But… I don’t have enough money to pay for tuition,” Harriet said.

“Fortunately, this school is government funded, therefore you do not need to pay anything. However, you will need pay for school supplies, which is why I insisted you not spend your money from baking on silly things like sweets.”

“Oh,” Harriet said, feeling rather dumb, “How do you know I have magic?”

Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes. “Have you _seen_ yourself, Harriet? Do you remember when Reginald Thoms blamed you for putting a whoopee cushion on Miss Dwayne’s cushion, and she believed him? Remember what happened to Miss Dwayne?”

Harriet thought, a dawning realization coming upon her. “Her wig… turned pink!”

“Yes, it did, and you know why? Because you were upset at her.”

“And the squash-coloured sweater!”

“Yes, that too.”

“And the time that we were going to go bowling but then George McFrey broke my foot with a bowling ball and then it healed?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And the time we had your potato leek soup and it tasted _so bad_ -”

“Yes, Harriet, I remember, it turned into mashed potatoes with a side of leeks,” Aunt Petunia said, “Anyways, now that we’ve established that you are, indeed, magical, we have your parents and brother to talk about.”

“They’re magic too?”

“Yes, they are. Well… the thing is that a couple of years before you were born, while your parents were finishing school, there was a dark lord on the rise. He wanted to kill all non-magicals and any of their magical children as well. He wanted to kill many full blooded magicals who accepted these people. 

My sister was born into a non-magical family, therefore he wanted to kill her too. Her husband was a full blooded magical, but accepted her and married her, so he wanted to kill him too. Since you and your brother were their children, he wanted to kill you too. 

He came to your home on Halloween night. He made your parents faint, or something, and then he reached you and your brother’s nursery. He shot a ‘killing curse’ at your brother, and somehow it reflected and vanquished the dark lord. 

The magicals dubbed him ‘the Boy-Who-Lived’ and your parents were so caught up in his fame that they didn’t want to care for you, so they sent you to us.”

Harriet was silent for the longest time. “Can I go?”

Aunt Petunia was slightly taken aback. “What?”

“To this school. This magical school.”

“Of course, why else would I be telling you about it?”

Harriet built up her resolve, and her aunt recognized the look in her eyes. “I’ll show them. I’ll show them they were wrong to leave Harriet Potter in the dust.”

Her aunt smiled. “And that, you will do,” she said before lifting herself off the couch.

Once she reached the doorway, Aunt Petunia paused. “But before you do, make sure to do the dishes, Harriet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is in reference to Jon Cozart's "Harry Potter in 99 Seconds". Go check it out.


	2. Diagonally?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets her Hogwarts letter and goes to Diagon Alley to get her school supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No comments, but one person bookmarked, so... This is for you!

Harriet was picking the crumbs of her muffin off the sofa when the doorbell rang.

“Harriet,” her aunt said, “Get the door.” Harriet brushed the crumbs off her hands and face before walking to the door.

Standing there tall man in black robes. He had dark, greasy hair, sallow skin, and a large, hooked nose.

He spoke softly, but no gently. “I wish to speak to a… Harriet Potter.”

“That’ll be me,” Harriet replied, her cheerful voice contrasting from the man’s careful tone.

“I’m here to deliver a letter of admittance to a school.” He handed her a letter with a wax red seal. She opened the letter to read: 

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 

Dear Ms Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 

“What does it mean, ‘we await your owl’?” Harriet asked as she let the man step inside.

“It is the form of communication for witches and wizards,” the man said.

“Oh, alright,” Harriet said, “But if I told you right now that I accept, would that count?”

“Yes, it would.”

“I accept the invitation to Hogwarts,” Harriet said clearly.

“Brilliant,” said the man boredly.

“I realize I did not get a name from you, sir?”

“Professor Severus Snape.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape. What subject do you teach?”

“Potions,” replied the man idly, “Now that you’ve accepted, I’ll take you to get your school supplies.”

“Okay, but you’ll have to wait a while, I need to get some things.”

Professor Snape said nothing as she steered him into the sitting room.

“Aunt Petunia, there’s a Professor Snape here, he’s going to take me to get my school supplies,” she called out to her aunt.

“Alright, Harriet, make sure to bring at least half of your money,” her aunt called back.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Harriet asked Professor Snape.

“No thank you,” he replied stiffly. Harriet rolled her eyes. 

“Aunt Petunia, bring a blueberry muffin,” she told her aunt before hurrying up the stairs. She slipped a white jumper over her head, and tried to make her hair sit flat, but to no avail. Harriet shoved her savings jar inside her only backpack and slung it around her shoulders before rushing down the stairs.

“I’m ready!” she said excitedly as Professor Snape was about to take a bite out of the muffin Aunt Petunia had just handed him.

 

“How are we getting there?”

“We will be using the floo, spelled f-l-o-o,” said Professor Snape, “It is a system that runs through fireplaces. You throw the powder into the fire, then speak the name of the place you wish to go to. However, you can only use it for registered fireplaces. Your fireplace has been temporarily registered, just for today.”

As the professor withdrew a pot from his robes, a thought appeared in Harriet’s head. Yes, how unbelievable. She can think.

“Professor Snape?” Harriet said as the man placed the pot on the mantle.

“Yes?”

“So… you say my fireplace has been temporarily registered, just for today, correct?”

“Yes,” Snape said, wondering where she was going with this.

“So you mean to say,” Harriet paused for dramatic effect, “that you just assumed that I would accept the invitation?”

“I suppose so,” Snape replied, irritation evident on his face from her questioning.

“Then… say I didn’t accept. Wouldn’t that mean that random people could just enter my house through the fireplace?”

“It’s not as stupid as that, Miss _Potter_ ,” Snape sneered, deliberately spitting over her last name, “You see, wizards lack basic logic, but know how to maintain security. The fireplace is only activated for five minutes after you accept, so I do _impress upon you_ to stop wasting time with your mind-addling questions.”

“But then how do we return?”

“Only the student can return through the fireplace, and then it is sealed permanently - or at least, until you get your fireplace registered for all-time Floo use,” Professor Snape said, “Now, let us stop dilly-dallying.”

He took a pinch of the silvery powder in his hands.

“Observe, and do as I do. Bring the pot along,” the professor said. He threw the powder into the fireplace. A green fire roared from the fireplace, and Professor Snape stepped inside. “The Leaky Cauldron!” He disappeared in a flash of flames.

Harriet turned to her aunt, who was watching nervously. Noticing Harriet’s gaze, she nodded.

Harriet picked up some of the ‘floo’ powder and threw it into the fireplace. The same green flames leaped up. Harriet stepped in unsurely. “The Leaky Cauldron!”

And suddenly, she was spinning very quickly, shooting up. Her stomach lurched like butterflies were flying inside. It was like riding a roller coaster. She saw other fireplaces flying past, until finally she shot out, falling on the floor, but had the instincts to break her fall using her arms.

She coughed, picking herself up and rubbing her arms tenderly.

“Ah, a tough first trip with the floo?” said the barman.

“I s’pose so,” Harriet said, “I’m looking for Professor Snape?”

Just as she said that, the professor appeared.

“Ah, Miss _Potter_ , it seems the Headmaster wishes me to run other errands. I must leave you in the care of Auror Black, who will assist you in shopping. Tom? If you would insure that Miss _Potter_ does not get into any _mischief_ while waiting for Auror Black?”

“Certainly, Professor Snape,” the barman said.

“Bye, Professor Snape! See you at school!” she waved at the man, who nodded curtly and walked out the back door.

“Would you like anything, Miss Potter?” Tom the barman asked as she waited.

“Sure, but I only have pounds, not… whatever the currency is.”

“We do accept pounds here at the Leaky,” Tom smiled. He pulled out a gold coin, a silver coin, and a small bronze coin.

“Now this gold coin is called a galleon. It’s equivalent to about 2 pounds. This is a sickle…” Tom explained the wizarding currency to her.

“How complicated!” Harriet said. “In the Muggle world, we keep it much more simple.”

Tom nodded sympathetically. “Every year, poor Muggleborns come in, having to multiply by ridiculous numbers to understand how much something is really worth in their world,” he paused. “Ah, here’s Auror Black.”

“Hello, Tom,” said the man. He was tall, and wore a brown trench coat. He had slightly long black hair, but not nearly as long as Professor Snape’s. He had a handsome face with aristocratic features and grey eyes.

“Hello, Black. Here we have young Miss Potter,” said Tom, “Miss Potter, this is Auror Black.”

“Hello,” Harriet said curiously, “What’s an Auror?”

“We’re like magical policemen,” answered Auror Black.

“Okay,” Harriet said, then grinned, “Let’s go! I wanna see all the magicky stuff!”

 

Auror Black and Harriet were quite the pair. They practically bounced all the way to Gringotts, the wizarding bank, Harriet asking question after question in her excited voice, and the auror answering them with equal enthusiasm.

While on the cart going down to deposit money into Harriet’s newly created vault, they both whooped loudly, annoying the goblin assisting them immensely. 

“First, we’ll get you a trunk,” said Auror Black, “Most Hogwarts students store their belongings in trunks.”

They visited Wiseacre’s Wizarding Supplies, where Harriet purchased a dark green trunk with gold lining. She also got a brass telescope (“There’s a class just for stargazing?!”), brass scales (“What could I possibly need this for?”), and a set of glass phials (“So we can blow stuff up, right?”).

“We’ll get you some robes,” said Auror Black as they stepped into Madam Malkin’s. While Madam Malkin helped Harriet with her robes, Auror Black disappeared, saying he’d get them both ice cream from the ice cream store.

“Can you make them self adjusting, if that’s a thing?” Harriet asked Madam Malkin, “I’m a little tight on money.”

“Of course, dear,” Madam Malkin said. “You’ll just have to come back every few years to renew the charm.”

She waved her wand, and a few sparks fell onto the robes. 

“Can you make them sparkly, too?” Harriet asked eagerly. Madam Malkin smiled.

“I’m afraid that since sparkles are against the school’s dress policy, I am not allowed to do that. However, Ms. Potter, dare I say that should you find the right charm, perhaps,” the shop owner lowered her voice, “ _Fabulous Fixes for the Fashionable Witch_ , then you’re free the make whatever adjustments you wish.” Madam Malkin straightened, her eyes glimmering. “Now don’t you go telling anyone I said that.”

“Said what?” Harriet smiled at the witch. _I like her._

Madam Malkin handed her a pair of dragon hide gloves and rang up her purchases. As Harriet waited for Auror Black, she glanced down at the list of things to get.

Auror Black returned with two giant ice creams in hand. He handed one to Harriet and took the bag of robes from her. They had a contest to see who could finish theirs the fastest.

Harriet, of course, won.

Both on a sugar high, they headed to Potage’s Cauldron Shop, and Auror Black almost let Harriet purchase the gold cauldron, before remembering his role and quickly switching it for a pewter cauldron.

They went to Flourish and Blotts', where Harriet picked up her schoolbooks as well as a few extra books to read (including “ _Fabulous Fixes for the Fashionable Witch_ ”.)

Then they headed to Ollivander’s. “Can you get your wand alone?” said Auror Black. Harriet nodded. “Ollivander creeps me out. How much longer till your birthday?”

“One day,” said Harriet. Auror Black grinned.

“Great! I’ll get you a birthday present.”

As he left, an old lady came up to Harriet. “Only the worthy can use this wand. I must insist that you try it.”

“No thanks. I don’t take things from strangers, not to mention _magical_ strangers.”

“But m’dear! You must!” the old lady’s silvery hair fell in her face as the wind blew, “I have spent my life working on this masterpiece!”

Harriet shrugged. She picked it up. She felt a warmth come upon her.

The old woman smiled. “Rainbow eucalyptus wood, with the gold from the bones of a Jabberwocky as a core and sealed with an ice gemstone from the heart of an ice dragon. Nine inches.” The old lady handed her a card with the description on it, which was good, because there was no way Harriet would be able to remember it all.

“Okaaaayy,” Harriet said. Then she slowly handed the wand back. “No thanks.”

“But… But… Miss, it is yours now! Free of charge.”

Harriet picked it back up. “Just go away.” The old woman beamed and hobbled away. Once she was out of sight, Harriet threw the wand to the floor and brought her foot on it. A crack sounded throughout the alley.

“‘Only the worthy can use this wand’, my arse,” Harriet said, “Stupid choosy wand.”

She picked up the two halves of the wand and entered the wand shop.

“Miss Potter,” a dusty old voice said from somewhere.

“And I wondered why Auror Black thought you were creepy,” Harriet thought aloud. “You really should greet people at your storefront.”

An old man appeared in front of her. “Forgive me,” he rasped, “It’s just hilarious, sometimes, watching people get creeped out.”

Harriet grinned. “I get it, I love messing with people too.” She handed him the remains of the wand. “Some random lady gave me this wand. Of course, I don’t trust random people, nor do I want a wand that’s so high and mighty. So I broke it. Plus, what the hell is,” Harriet checked the card, “’gold from the bone of a jabberwocky’ or ‘ice gemstone from the heart of an ice dragon’, anyways?”

“No idea,” replied the wandmaker. He examined the wand. “This is merely a wand made of American beech, painted with some bright and random colours. The core is not of gold, but of… fool’s gold. Iron pyrite. The gemstone at the back is not even a diamond. It is mineral topaz. And… ah. Clever. There is a charm applied to it that makes it warm upon first contact with a new person.”

“Wow,” replied Harriet, “That lady is a _liar_.”

“Indeed,” said Ollivander, “Now, shall we get you sorted with a real wand?”

“Alright,” said Harriet. She lifted her arm. She sensed something she liked. A box flew into her hand.

Ollivander raised her eyebrow. “An impressive show of power.”

“I am never doing that again,” said Harriet, suddenly feeling very tired, “And yes, I know, it looks like I’m a show off. Sorry.”

She opened the box. Inside was a wand made of pale wood. She picked it up, and there was  swirl of magic that burst forth through her. A wind swept through the store and automatically fixed everything, sorting the wands out and taking years worth of dust off the furniture. The place felt good as new. And for good measure, a couple of colourful sparks flew out of the wand.

“Wow,” said Ollivander, “Didn’t you just-”

“I hate this,” said Harriet, feeling drained, “This wand is sapping the energy from me.”

“Holly wood, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core,” recited Ollivander.

Harriet tilted her head. “What’s that in centimetres?”

“Roughly 27 centimetres,” replied Ollivander.

“Almost the length of a ruler,” replied Harriet absentmindedly. 

“Nevermind that,” said Ollivander, “The phoenix who gave its feather for this wand gave only one other. How curious that this wand should choose you, considering its brother gave _your_ brother his scar.”

“That _boy_ ,” said Harriet, “isn’t my _anything_. Also, can I not take this wand?”

Ollivander raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Listen,” Harriet placed her palms on the counter, leaning forward, “I’ve already got enough going against me, okay? I don’t have much money, my parents abandoned me, and I’m a newcomer to this world. I don’t need people accusing me of being evil.”

“No other wand will fit you until this one is gone.”

“Until it’s gone?” Harriet smirked. What an easy loophole. “How much, Mr. Ollivander?”

“Seven galleons, if you please.” Harriet fished out seven galleons for the wand and then dropped it to the floor and crushed it like she had to the other wand.

“You have impressive strength,” noted Ollivander, “And while I am definitely not pleased with you destroying Ollivander craftsmanship, I must applaud you on your cunning.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Harriet bowed several times. She picked up the ruins of the wand and set it on the table. From the wreckage, she pulled out a beautiful orange-yellow, almost fire like feather from the wood.

“Is this a phoenix feather?” asked Harriet.

“Indeed,” said Ollivander, “From the lightest of creatures. But it only gave one other feather- one that ended up in You-Know-Who’s wand.”

“You mean Vol-”

“Yes, that man. Do refrain from saying his name, it causes great distress,” said Ollivander.

“So, Mr Ollivander, could I, by any chance, reuse this feather into…say… a quill?”

Ollivander clapped his hands together. “Excellent idea! Yes, you certainly could. I would rather quickly recommend the quill-shop in Diagon-Alley, Amaneunsis Quills.”

“Thank you,” said Harriet, “Now, for another wand?”

They sorted the other wand out quickly, without any flying boxes this time. Harriet felt much happier with this one. She thanked Ollivander, promised to visit again later to prank customers, and then went outside and waited outside for Auror Black to return.

When he returned, he had in his hands a small box - one that would hold jewellery.

He grinned widely as he handed the box to her. “Don’t open it until tomorrow. It’s jewellery, as you can guess. Young girls like things like that, right?”

Harriet smiled at the auror. “You don’t have children, do you?”

Auror Black shook his head. “How’d you guess?”

Harriet stuck her tongue out. “Can’t say. Thank you for the gift, though. I don’t why you’re giving a random kid a gift, but it’s very nice of you.”

Auror Black frowned. “Random kid? Do you not remember me?”

Harriet looked at him in confusion. “Remember you?”

“I’m your godfather,” he replied.

“What?!” Harriet said, nearly dropping everything.

“Woah, woah, woah,” said the auror, steadying her.

“You’re my godfather?” she exclaimed, “Where have you been?”

“The Ministry, that is, the government, sent me on a five year long mission to Asia,” replied Auror Black, “I am now fluent in Thai.”

He paused. “You really don’t remember me? I used to visit you. I think your aunt can vouch for that. I gave you a silver hairbrush for your birthday before I left.”

“So _that’s_ where it came from,” said Harriet, “I never use it, it always pulls on my scalp and makes it hurt. Anyways- before that?”

“No wonder your hair looks so much like James’,” replied Auror Black, “Before that - Iraq. The less said about that, the better.”

He stared at her. “We’ll get you a pet - assuming you want one, that is - and then we’re going to the Leaky to discuss this.”

At the pet store, Harriet browsed through some cats, before deciding not to get one. She just didn’t click with any of them. She encountered some snakes, and surprisingly, heard them speak.

“Take me! Take me!”

“Shut up, you occamy! She’s taking us!”

“Speaker! Please! I feel a connection to you!”

Harriet felt connected to all of the snakes. Shuddering, she skipped them. “Sorry,” she whispered, “It’s just creepy.”

She came across a beautiful snowy owl. “This one!” Harriet said. Sirius was over in a flash, and so was the storekeeper.

“How much for this owl?” 

“Twenty galleons,” replied the shopkeeper. Sirius handed the money over.

“She’s a female snowy owl, been here for long because of her attitude,” said the shopkeeper, “I think she was waiting for you.” Harriet rolled her eyes. _Cheesy saps_ , she thought.

At the Leaky Cauldron, they got a private room. Harriet split open her trunk and arranged everything inside except for the owl.

“You can let her have a stretch,” said Auror Black, “She’ll find you wherever you go.”

“Sure,” said Harriet. She opened the door of the cage. “Bye.” The owl seemed to roll her amber eyes before hopping out and flying off. Harriet had a feeling that she would get along great with the owl.

“Alright,” said the auror, “Since you can’t seem to remember me, my name is Sirius Black. I am your godfather and your magical guardian.”

“Nice to meet you, Sirius Black - wait, your name is Sirius?” she sniggered, “Um. Anyways. My name is Harry Harriet Lillian Potter, and I go by Harry, even if nobody, not even the narrator, acknowledges it.”

Ignoring _Harry’s_ inappropriately meta comment, Sirius replied, “Ah, yes, an unfortunate name. Makes for great puns. I was named after a star - the brightest star in the sky, would you believe it.”

Harry took a deep breath, and then exploded. “So now that you’re back in Britain, can you take me in? Also, why would you care for me? My aunt told me that my parents wanted my brother and so did everyone else. Are they still friends with you? Were you friends with my mum or dad? What are they like? Why did they leave me, and were you-”

“Slow down,” said Sirius, “First of all, yes, I want to, if you’d like. Next, your parents gave you away while I was in Iraq. I was furious with them. I’m still good friends with them, not as close as before, though. I was friends with your father first. Something changed in James and Lily while I was away. They didn’t care for you so much. When you broke your arm as a toddler at their Halloween party, they sent you to your aunt’s because they didn’t want to deal with you. I didn’t really have much of a say. 

I had a few months before I was sent off to Asia, and while I was here, I visited you and gave you that hairbrush. It’s a magic hairbrush. You have the unfortunate luck of inheriting James’ messy hair, and as a girl I thought it wouldn’t look as good, so the hairbrush is enchanted to make your hair better and better each day. But I guess, since you never used it, there wasn’t any point anyways.”

Harry stared at him. Then something clicked inside her mind. A story filled all the blank spaces in her mind. A man… a man’s face, smiling, a dog playing… a wrapped box, and inside… her silver hairbrush.

Harry’s eyes widened and she gasped dramatically. 

“You!”

Sirius smiled. “Me,” he said agreeably.

“There was another man,” Harry recalled. She remembered seeing a scarred face, amber eyes, and the taste of chocolate. “He was nice. He gave me my book.”

“Your book?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Must be Remus, then.”

“My book, as in my journal,” clarified Harry, “Gorgeous pink-purple, sort of spiceberry colour with a golden lock and-”

“Honestly,” said Sirius, “I don’t need to know.” Seeing Harry’s hurt expression, he quickly amended his statement. “You don’t want me to find and read it, do you?”

Harry smiled again. “There’s nothing interesting in there,” said Harry, “Just some boring school drab and some accounting things.”

“You’re my goddaughter,” Sirius ruffled her hair, “It’ll be interesting to me.”

Harry raised her eyebrows, batting his hands away from her head, “So you really want to know what a nine-year old thinks of Amanda Kerrins’ stupid face?”

“You were a mean nine year old- wait, _how long_ have you had this thing?” Sirius asked.

“Since I was six,” said Harry promptly.

“Must be enchanted,” replied Sirius, “Remus must have enchanted it so that you could write forever. Only Remus would do something like that.”

“Who is this Remus anyways?”

“Remus Lupin is your parent’s friend,” said Sirius, “He’s basically another godfather.”

“Is he an Auror too?” asked Harry eagerly. 

“No,” said Sirius slowly. Harry frowned.

“Then why didn’t he take me in?” Harry asked, confused.

“Because…” Sirius started mumbling, “He’s got financial troubles…couldn’t support you… and a different problem…”

Figuring she would get no more out of Sirius about Remus Lupin, she changed the topic.

“Tell me about Volde-”

“Merlin’s beard, child! Don’t go around saying that!” Sirius said.

“Sorry, forgot.” Harry frowned, “I’m kind of new to this stuff.”

“It’s alright,” Sirius said, “Just… have a little more caution. People in the wizarding world don’t like it when others say his name.”

“That’s stupid,” Harry replied, crossing her arms, “Why?”

“Because, young one,” Sirius said with an air of wisdom, “his name is taboo. Quite literally.”

“Literally?”

“Back when He was still alive, those who dared say his name summoned his followers, who would then kill them or torture them or do something else equally horrible to them.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“ _Oh_ indeed,” Sirius replied, “Some people, who witnessed these events firsthand and survived, would probably have a literal panic attack if you said the name. Therefore,” he paused, “We must try and have a _little_ more tact for them.”

“That makes more sense,” Harry said, “I’ll try not to say it around others.”

“Good kid,” Sirius said, smiling, “Now, it’s nearly time for lunch, so I daresay you must be starving right now, right?”

“Positively,” Harry grinned.

“Then let’s eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of tempted to have Harriet say, "Whatcha name, man?" to Snape, but I guess that's too much of a Hamilton reference for either the Harry Potter fandom or Snape to handle.  
> "Gosh, what's with these needy snakes? I'd rather have this fantastic, beautiful owl. No, it doesn't need a name, what are you on about? It's too striking? Who cares! It's not like I'll be mailing that many people, or anyone important, for that matter..."  
> Yeah, while it is cool to have Harry get a snake, we can't just _not_ have Hedwig in the story, that's ridiculous... (at least, it is for me. Please don't flame. Thanks.)  
>  EDIT 16/10/17: Fixed some formatting mistakes and odd phrases. By the way, the Hogwarts letter was ripped directly from the Philosopher's Stone.


	3. No, Diagon Alley.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns home after shopping for school supplies, buying an owl, and some other dramatic shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, but eh :/ there isn't much I can do about it right now. Maybe in the future I'll come back and rewrite it. Who knows.

After eating lunch, Harry told Sirius about the whole wand ordeal.

“This creepy old lady came up to me before I entered Ollivander’s,” she started. Sirius’ eyes narrowed.

“She insisted I try a wand that she had made. After a couple of tries, I decided to try it. A warm feeling came on me, and the old woman told me this wand was her life’s work, and gave me this card -” Harry slid the card across the table to Sirius, “- and then disappeared.”

“Harry,” Sirius said in a…well…serious tone, “If creepy old ladies come up to you and force you to try out a wand they made you should probably refuse, kick them in the knee, and run away as fast as you can.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said nonchalantly, “Anyways, as soon as she was out of sight I broke the wand and went into the wand store. Ollivander said it was made of… beech wood? Some fool’s gold, I think, and mineral topaz. He gave me another wand, but apparently the phoenix feather in it came from the same phoenix that was in Volde-sorry, You-Know-That-Guy’s wand. Ollivander told me I couldn’t get another one as long as the one I had was still working, so I broke that one too.”

“You _what_ ,” Sirius said, “Wands are expensive, Harry. Have a little consideration for your bank account.”

“It’s my hard-earned money, I’ll do what I like with it,” Harry replied smugly.

“Why would you need to earn money?” Sirius asked, “You have a huge trust fund. Even if you never take anything out of it.”

“I have a _what_?”

“Oh. I’ll take it you didn’t know that.”

 

After another fifteen minutes of Sirius explaining to Harry that despite her parents sending her away to her aunt’s, they had still kept her trust fund up and running for some reason, so if she wanted to, she could take out money from there. He told her that James said that there were occasional withdrawals by her aunt, so he assumed she must know about it.

“Well you’re wrong,” Harry said, “I don’t know anything about it, and I don’t know what on earth Aunt Petunia’s taking money out of my trust fund for.”

“You, probably,” Sirius looked up from where he was examining the table, “Children do cost money, Harry, and you do as well, whether you like it or not. And while the money the Dursleys make might easily feed the three of them, they may struggle to deal with another child as well.”

“I’d hardly think so,” Harry replied, scowling. “They’re quite well-off. In fact, the other day, my cousin Dudley got a grand thirty-something presents.”

“Thirty-something?” Sirius said incredulously, “Perhaps the money was for your clothes, Harry? She only took out small amounts- a hundred pounds or so every year or so.”

“I’m still going to ask her about it.”

“Do as you please,” Sirius said, “I’m your godfather, not your babysitter, and it certainly isn’t _my_ job to reign you in. In fact,” Sirius paused, “I might actually make you worse.”

“Worse?” Harry looked up at him, “In what ways?”

“In _this_ way,” Sirius placed something in front of her. It was a blank piece of yellowing paper - no, parchment. Harry picked up the parchment and held it to the light.

“Yes, another piece of paper to assist me in ruining the world with my horrible handwriting!” she cackled maniacally for dramatic effect.

Sirius smacked his forehead with his palm. “No, you idiot, it’s not for that.”

“You shouldn’t call children idiots,” Harry said in a chastising tone, “We’re naturally dumber than adults, it’s not our fault.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Sirius ruffled her hair, “I didn’t mean to offend you. Anyways, this piece of paper is magic!”

“Wow, really?” Harry gasped, “No way!”

“ _Down_ with the sarcasm, young lady,” Sirius said, “This piece of parchment is magic because. Well. Let me show you.”

He pulled out his wand and placed the tip on the piece of parchment. Solemnly, Sirius said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink swirled on the parchment and eventually congregated into lines, forming a map. Harry gaped in astonishment.

“A bit amazing isn’t it?” Sirius smirked at her expression.

“The map part?” Harry said, “meh. But the magic part- whoa.”

“Whoa?” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“I’m new to magic, alright, don’t judge me if I find everything a little amazing.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius held his hands up in surrender, “I won’t judge you anymore. But anyways,” Sirius returned his attention to the parchment, “What’s so amazing about this map is that it tells you where anyone is at the current time at your school.”

He pointed at a circular room. The words Albus Dumbledore hovered above a pair of footprints. “Obviously, since it’s summer, there aren’t that many people at school, but there’s the old headmaster in his office.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, “I see, I see. Where can I buy another dozen of these?”

“Not at any store near you,” Sirius said, “The Marauders - that is to say, James, Remus, this other bloke, and I, we made it.”

“You _made_ it?” Harry raised her eyebrows, “That is so _cool_!”

Sirius nodded vigorously. “Isn’t it?” he said, “I’m passing it on to you now - the only copy we have left. Filch took one, and the other two were lost in horrible accidents.”

“Who’s Filch?” Harry asked, immediately deciding she didn’t want to know about the “horrible accidents”.

“Caretaker of Hogwarts,” Sirius said, “He’s a nasty old fellow. Hey, if you ever do find yourself in that tiny cupboard he calls an office, find the other map and send it back to me.”

“Alright,” Harry said.

“Let’s return you to your aunt now, shall we?”

“Wait, I need this made into a quill,” Harry pulled the phoenix feather out from her pocket.

“Is that a _phoenix feather_? Merlin’s beard, Harry, how many more surprises do you have?”

 

After the phoenix feather quill was finished, Sirius took Harry back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Now, all you have to do is say ‘Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey’ and it should take you back,” Sirius told her, “I’ll come after you to make sure you’ve arrived, but I won’t stay for too long. Your uncle doesn’t like me.”

“Why not?”

“For good reason, Harry, for good reason,” Sirius said genially, and Harry knew she would get no further out of him.

Once she arrived back at Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia came rushing from the living room. “How was your day, Harry? Oh dear, that fireplace magic does _dreadful_ things to your hair, you really shouldn’t use it at-”

The fireplace gave a burp and spit Sirius out.

“Ah, hello Petunia,” Sirius said awkwardly, “Just came after Harry to make sure she’d arrived safely.”

Aunt Petunia froze, and for a second Harry thought she was going to faint, but then she had smiled and went over to Sirius. She gave him a hug, and then ripped into him.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been missing for years, Sirius Black! Oh boy, will you wait until Vernon hears this - what is this - you can’t just stroll in here again like you’ve never stopped doing it!”

“Except I can, and I just did,” Sirius said cheekily. Aunt Petunia grabbed him by the ear and dragged him into the kitchen. Harry trailed after them awkwardly, ignoring Sirius’ obvious ‘help me’ signals.

“None of that attitude, Sirius Black, I’m your elder!” Aunt Petunia settled in the kitchen, “Harry, dear, take a glass of milk and some cookies and head upstairs. You don’t want to be behind on your schoolwork when you get to… Hogwarts, do you?”

Harry saw Aunt Petunia’s obvious attempt to get rid of her, and quickly grabbed some milk and cookies, like her aunt had suggested, and escaped the kitchen. She heard her aunt speak again before she was out of hearing.

“Now, Sirius, tell me _everything_.”

 

By the time Harry came back downstairs, it was evening, and Sirius had left with a quick goodbye. Uncle Vernon had returned and was inhabiting the living room couch and the telly.

“Ah, Petunia’s finally told you about your freaky stuff, has she?” he said from the couch, looking an awful lot like a walrus.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Well, it’s might good that you’re paying for it yourself, because _I_ certainly won’t be spending _my_ hard-earned money on your freakery.”

“Freakery? Now that’s a new one,” Harry said, chuckling, “Worry not, dear uncle, for the next time I go to the bank, I’ll empty my trust fund of every… knut? And you shan’t have to pay a penny for my schooling.”

“Since when do you have a trust fund, kid?” Uncle Vernon said in surprise.

“I know, right?” Harry said, “I didn’t know either. Apparently my parents kept it running even after they chucked me out, for some reason. Anyways, it replenishes after I empty it, so I’ll just transfer some money out every so often. The Potters won’t notice a _thing_.”

“Good financials, girl,” Uncle Vernon said, “I knew that bakery business of yours would come to some good. You keep at that, but make sure to give us a pretty penny before you shove off.”

“I’ll be giving some to Aunt Petunia for her loving care,” Harry said sarcastically, “And how do _you_ not know of it? Apparently Aunt Petunia withdraws a hundred pounds every year or two?”

“I don’t tell him _everything_ , Harriet,” Aunt Petunia appeared at the doorway, “What would the fun be in that?”

Harry and Uncle Vernon gave gasps of horror at her statement.

“You _don’t_?” Vernon said in disbelief.

“You _eavesdropped_?” Harry said in equal disbelief.

“I don’t, Vernon, and yes I did, Harriet,” Aunt Petunia said, “I used the money from the bank to pay for your schooling and some clothes on occasion.”

“Clothes on occasion, as in clothes maybe once a year,” Harry said mockingly, “I’m literally just wearing your and Lily’s old clothes.”

“Why waste good clothing?” Aunt Petunia said, as she always said, “Now, let’s move along. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know, this chapter was really insubstantial, but to make up for it, I'll update again on Wednesday. How does that sound? Good?  
> I also discovered that Subscriptions were a thing. Whaaaat? How come nobody told me? And here I was, anguishing over how few people were interested in my fic...  
> The next chapter, I think, is also going to be pretty slow, but things will start picking up again after that. You'll enjoy the ride... Hopefully :)


	4. Heir of Hufflepuff and whatnot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus, Gringotts, and high society dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's technically still Wednesday, depending on where you live.

A couple of weeks later, there was another knock at the door.

“Sirius!” Harry yelled as she threw herself out the door and into his arms, “Let’s go!”

Sirius apparated them (eugh) to the Leaky Cauldron and lead them over to where a man was sitting in a booth.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Lupin!” Harry said.

“That’s right, Harry, this is _Mister Remus Lupin_ ,” sniggered Sirius. The man next to him rolled his eyes. He was about as tall as Sirius, with a scarred face and greying brown hair. His clothes were very smart, if a little tatty. 

“Hello, Mr. Lupin,” Harry offered, “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Just Remus is fine,” said the man, “Or even Uncle Remus, if you insist on making me feel old. May I ask why you choose to call yourself Harry?”

“Oh, it’s not a gender thing or anything,” Harry replied as she sat down, “Just a personal choice. Harriet’s a bit drab. Besides, why go by what my parents wanted, anyways? My name _is_ , after all, Harry Harriet Lillian Potter. So Harry is my correct name… technically.”

“Oh, your parents never wanted you to be named Harriet, trust me,” Sirius chuckled, “They thought you were going to be a boy, and you would be named Harry. So once you were born, your father mistakenly called you Harry, and the midwife told him you were no boy, James’ ever-so-quick wit failed him, and his first offering was ‘Harriet’. Your mother, in her own right, tried to shoot down this name and quickly offered her own name as your middle name. Unfortunately, official naming witches and wizards can be a little nutty at times, and the one at your birth was a little deaf, too. That’s how your name ended up being Harry Harriet Lillian Potter instead of Harry James Potter.”

“Oh, cool!” Harry said excitedly, “That’s a great story!”

“Never heard that one before,” Remus muttered. Sirius looked at him dolefully.

“Sorry, Moony. You remember how it was-”

“Yes, yes, no need for explanations, Sirius,” Remus replied.

“Moony? Why is that your nickname?” Harry asked.

The two men glanced at each other, at a loss for a moment, before Sirius replied - “Uh, he’s great at Astronomy!”

“Astronomy? How cool!” Harry replied, “Will you teach me some before I leave for Hogwarts?”

“Yes, Moony, teach the girl some Astronomy,” Sirius said with a grin on his face. Remus glared at him before sighing.

“Best to leave the teaching to real teachers, Harry,” he replied in a somber tone.

“Oh dear, you sound miserable,” Harry said, “Do you have a girlfriend by any chance?”

“What—I—”

“Or a boyfriend? Sorry, I shouldn’t assume.”

“Uh, Harry—”

“Oh, how about we just say a significant other?”

"I -"

 

* * *

 

“- don’t get it,” Harry said, skipping along Sirius as they made their way over to Gringotts, “Did I do something wrong? I was just trying to help.”

“Harry, you little angel,” Sirius said, “Your idea of _help_ is far different from Remus’ idea of help. Don’t worry, he’s not mad, just a little embarrassed. He’ll meet us at Florean Fortescue’s afterwards for some ice cream.”

“Oh, good,” Harry said, “I totally thought I had offended him in some unforgivable way.”

“I’m sure he’s used to it, the Potters are quite a bunch,” Sirius said.

“Ugh, don’t compare me with them,” Harry said, frowning.

“My bad,” Sirius replied, “But the Potters are quite silly sometimes. James is a prankster, Lily a tempest, and Charlus the very definition of spoiled. In comparison, you are nothing.”

“Always draw the short straw, I do,” Harry grinned sourly.

“Ah, not like that, silly,” Sirius quickly amended his words, “It’s a good thing. Your biological family is a real handful, despite how lovely they seem.”

“Don’t seem lovely to me,” Harry grumbled, “Who leaves a baby on a doorstep anyways? What if I got eaten by wolves?”

Sirius shrugged. “Don’t ask me, wasn’t my choice. But I’m fairly certain there are no wolves in Surrey.”

* * *

 

“…to my trust vault, if you please?” Harry asked.

“Key?” The goblin said boredly.

“Uh—”

“A blood test will do,” The goblin — Werdferdenber — pulled out a small silver plate and a little needle.

“Hand?” Harry placed her hand on the counter. The goblin looked up at her expectantly.

“Are there any other tests you would like to do?”

“All the usuals, if you don’t mind,” Sirius interjected. Werdferdenber pulled out a variety of parchments and plates.

“Just a few pricks, don’t be scared,” Werdferdenber told Harry.

He pricked her finger with the needle and let the blood drip over each of the parchments and plates.

“You are indeed Harry Harriet Lillian Potter,” said Werdferdenber, “You do have access to vault 1303, which is a trust vault, which currently has 1200 galleons, 24 sickles, and 3 knuts in it, as well as other assorted items, as well as vault 4219, which you created a few weeks ago. It has 45 galleons, 15 sickles, and 8 knuts to it. Being a minor, you are under the authority of Petunia Marie Evans Dursley and a protectorate of the Most Noble House of Potter. You are also the heir to the House of Black.”

“Transfer everything in my trust vault into vault 4219,” Harry said.

Werdferdenber stamped a piece of paper. “Done.”

“Could you remove the protection of—”

“Harry, no,” Sirius said, “If there’s any way to anger someone, it’s to rebuff what they consider as a favour.”

“Never mind, then,” Harry said, “And the other tests?”

“Your family tree,” Werdferdenber handed Harry a large scroll, “And as this paper would have it, you are apparently the Heir of Hufflepuff, giving you access to massive vault 877.”

“Who’s that?” Harry asked immediately.

“One of four founders of Hogwarts, the school I assume you are attending,” Werdferdenber replied.

“Through the Black line, I’m assuming?” Sirius asked the goblin.

“Yes,” the goblin replied.

“Alright,” Sirius said, “Take us down.”

They went on another cart ride, sitting down this time.

“You mustn’t let anyone know of this,” Sirius told Harry, “But I’m the Lord of my family and once you were born, I named you my heir because I certainly wasn’t planning on having children anytime soon, and Charlus was Heir Potter, so I thought it was only f-heir. Now, the Blacks were never quite a good sort, and you could say I was the white sheep of the Black family. Most of them are dead now, and the remnants are hardly in any position to claim Lordship of the Blacks. 

What you must understand first is that there are four houses at Hogwarts, which you are sorted into based on your personalities. Gryffindor — bravery, chivalry, courage. Hufflepuff — loyalty, hard work, marshmallow. Ravenclaw — wit, cleverness, the smarty pants of the lot. And then Slytherin — cunning, sneaky, and more often than not, evil. Most Slytherins believe that those who are not of pure wizard blood should not be allowed to attend magical school, which is, of course, hogwash. Gryffindor, in stark contrast, welcomes these people and accepts them, which leads to my next point —

Gryffindor and Slytherin hate each other. 

My entire family before me had been sorted into Slytherin. I was sorted into Gryffindor. And so I was the odd one out.

Never mind that, let’s get to the point. Out of all four houses, Hufflepuff is currently deemed to be the most pathetic. Of course, this is not true, there’s nothing wrong with dear old Hufflepuff. Helga Hufflepuff was a lovely lady, and while the other three set their standard, Hufflepuff said she would take all. Of course, being descended from Hufflepuff, to my family, was their greatest shame.

However, I don’t see anything wrong with it. Which is why, at the beginning of your school year, I’m going to play a prank on the world and publicly announce that dear old Helga is my great-great-something gran.”

“Ooh, plot twist!” Harry clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Don’t tell anyone you’re my heir, though. The remaining Blacks don’t care who they have to destroy in order to get to the money.”

“Uhhhh—” Harry pointed at Werdferdenber and raised her eyes.

“Oh, most goblins don’t care about wizard affairs,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “What do you think, Werdferdenber?”

“Do as you wish, I only look forward to enjoying the panic and misery of the wizards,” the goblin replied, “And here we are. Massive vault 877.”

As they reached the door, Harry noticed there was no real entrance to the vault. The door, yes, but you could hardly call it a door as it seemed to more strongly resemble a wall.

“How do you enter?” Harry asked Werdferdenber.

The goblin grinned maniacally, before saying in his harsh, grating voice, “Blood.”

* * *

 

One prick of blood from Sirius’ palm later, the door swung upwards and the floor started moving them inwards. The door closed after them, stopping just short of the floor.

In the centre of the vault was a pool, and inside the pool was piles and piles of gold galleons. Little coins were slowly floating down from the ceiling and hitting the water with little plinks as they passed through.

“Forget that,” Sirius said, steering her away from the pool. He dragged her over to a wooden dressing table, where there was a jewelry box inside.

“You can take something out of here,” Sirius said, “If you want to wear it.”

Opening the jewelry box, Harry saw many bracelets and earrings and necklaces, but she instead glided over to the rickety wooden closet and opened it. Inside were many poofy dresses, and through it, Harry picked out a pair of sturdy brown leather boots.

“Oh, those were Madam Hufflepuff’s casual boots,” said Werdferdenber, “She wore them for walks and whatnot.”

“Can I try them on?” Harry asked Sirius. He shrugged.

“Go ahead.”

“This Hufflepuff lady had small feet,” Harry said, slipping the boots on.

“The people back then were physically smaller, Harry,” Sirius said, “She was quite average for her time.”

“When was her time, anyways?”

“Oh, we’re talking about… first, second century?”

“ _Bloody h—_ ”

“Harry,” Sirius cut her off, “Not until you’re fifteen.”

“Oh my god, I’m wearing relics,” Harry hurriedly pulled the boots off her feet and put them back in the closet.

“You don’t want anything?” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, this should all be in a museum, honestly,” Harry replied, “I don’t want any of this.”

“They have long-lasting protection charms on them,” Sirius said in a salesman-like voice.

“ _This_ ,” Harry raised her hand, “also has several long-lasting protection charms on it.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius sighed.

Harry had pointed at the ring Sirius had given her for her birthday. As his note had said, rings were far easier to put on than necklaces or bracelets, and that she should wear it on her right index finger, as that represented leadership. The ring was silver and embedded with crystals that would glow different colours depending on her mood, meaning all it was in actuality was a hyped-up mood ring.

“Well… if you don’t want to take anything, then we came down here for nothing,” Sirius said, looking beseechingly at Harry.

“Ugh,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Stop trying to guilt me into bringing something back.”

“How about this cup?” Sirius picked up a large cup with a fancy crest on it, “It replenishes every time you finish drinking in it.”

Harry shot him an unsavoury look. “I don’t need a cup.”

Sirius sighed. “I suppose it’s too much to assume my goddaughter would want jewellery or clothes. So… why not take her diary?”

“What?” Harry blanched, “Her _what_?”

“Helga Hufflepuff’s diary,” Sirius said, “Look, it’s sitting right there.” He pointed at a worn, leather-bound tome sitting on a nearby table.

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?” Harry asked, crossing her arms, “I mean, _I_ wouldn’t like it if somebody looked into _my_ diary.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, dear, I don’t mind,” said an unfamiliar voice. Harry shrieked and jumped behind Sirius, who was trying to stifle his laughter.

“What was that? Why are you laughing?” Harry said, poking Sirius insistently.

Sirius pointed at a large portrait of a woman. She was plump, and had bright red hair and ruddy cheeks. She was wearing a matronly smile. 

And then she looked at Harry and said, “Hello there.”

Not used to this sort of thing, Harry replied back shyly, “Um. Hello.”

“I’m Helga Hufflepuff,” said the woman.

“I’m Harry Potter,” replied Harry, “You can talk?”

“Of course,” replied Helga Hufflepuff. “All magical portraits can talk. Well. Those of _people_ , at least.” She frowned slightly, seemingly remembering something before turning back to Harry with a cheery look on her face.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I just found out I was a witch a couple of weeks ago. My biological parents are magical, though, if that counts for anything.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t,” said Helga, “I’m sure dear old Sally would mind.”

Harry was about to question who ‘Sally’ was before realizing something. “Hey, wait, how can you speak English?”

“A portrait can speak whatever language you want it to speak,” replied Helga, “My native language certainly is _not_ English, but since English is _yours_ , I suppose that’s why we’re speaking in it. Besides, I have multiple frames all across England. I picked up most of my language from listening to people talk.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “How… curious.”

“Anyhow, I don’t mind if you take my diary,” said Helga, “It’s quite the source of interest, you know.” Then she winked at Harry and walked out the frame.

“Where did she go?!” Harry turned to Sirius.

“Into one of her many other portraits, I’m sure,” he replied with an amused look, “Now that you’ve got the permission from the old lady, you can take it with a guilt-free conscience.”

Harry narrowed her eyes.

* * *

 

“Unbelievable! You have the opportunity to take the diary of one of the most famous people in Britain, and you don’t take it!” Sirius threw his hands in the air.

“The opportunity or the diary?” Harry asked casually.

“The opportunity!” Sirius said, pausing for a moment, “Oh. Or the diary, I suppose.”

Harry snickered.

“Little _snake._ ” 

“Hiss,” replied Harry boredly.

“Unconvincing Parselmouth, though,” Remus said, “Two out of ten.”

“Unbelievable,” Harry said, sinking into her seat, “It’s quite evident that you’ve never even _met_ a Parcel-whatever in your life.”

“Parselmouth,” corrected Remus, “A person who can talk to snakes.”

“Oh! I can do that!” Harry said, deciding not to mention the pet store, “I once had a very lovely conversation with a garden snake. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t have any friends.”

Sirius cast a curious look over at her. “I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not.”

“Neither can I,” Harry grinned mischievously.

* * *

 

After another walk around Diagon Alley (including visiting the “Quidditch” store!) Sirius brought Harry and Remus to a fancy restaurant for lunch, where Harry ordered tomato soup and bread just to piss off the stuck up aristocrats they were dining near.

“What house do you reckon she’ll be in, Sirius?” Remus said as Harry lapped up the soup.

“I dunno, do I look like a wacky old hat to you?” Sirius said, rolling his eyes, “Any of them, to be honest. Yes,” he said at Remus’ _look_ , “even Slytherin.”

“Aww, thanks, Sirius,” cooed Harry, “I know, I know, I _am_ brave, smart, loyal, and cunning.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Modest, too.”

Harry beamed, “On spot, old dog.”

Sirius choked.

* * *

 

“Is there an explanation for why Sirius returned you to me today howling with laughter?” Aunt Petunia asked.

 _Howling with laughter._ Appropriate word choice.

“I dunno,” shrugged the eleven-year old, “I called him an old dog and then he and Remus both burst into laughter. I don’t get it.”

“Ah,” said Aunt Petunia wisely. Harry thought she saw a hint of a smile on her lips, but quickly dismissed it as her mind playing tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another insubstantial chapter. This one's pretty meh, too, even with all the Hufflepuff stuff that happens. I was going to have Harry stand up and proclaim her dedication to finding Remus a girlfriend-boyfriend-significant other but decided to cut it out last minute because it just didn't fit with her personality.  
> First search result for "Surrey wolves" is an inactive Canadian hockey team.  
> The heir of Hufflepuff was a direct parody of stories where Harry is revealed to be the heir of Slytherin/Gryffindor/Ravenclaw. Typically not Hufflepuff, though, I suppose everyone thinks she's too lame or something? I like Hufflepuff. Everyone else was like "We should only take these type of students" and she was like "We should take every student idk what you're on about ok"  
> End of my tangent, I've gotta run. Next chapter:  
> “Now, Petunia said you had to run at a wall, or something, so make sure to do that.”  
> King's Cross.


	5. 'Take me to King's Cross,' she said, 'You walrus.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry asks Uncle Vernon to drive her to King's Cross.

“Hey, Uncle Vernon, can you drive me up to King’s Cross so I can go to school?” Sirius had, unfortunately enough, left on an urgent trip to France to deal with some English criminals. Remus had cited visiting his grandmother in Wales, and vanished mysteriously. So, here she was.

“Why should I do that?” The fat man looked up from his breakfast.

“Think about it this way,” Harry put her hands on the table, and smirked, “You drive me up to London. You get rid of me for ten whole months.”

“She has a point,” Dudley said from the sitting room.

“Or,” said Uncle Vernon, grinning at her sadistically, “You could take the train.”

“I’m eleven years old,” said Harry, “And you and Petunia are my guardians. If anything happens to me on this _train_ , you’re getting in trouble, not me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What's this?" you cry, your face twisting in indignation as you look down at the screen, "This 'chapter' is not even 150 words! What is the author _doing_?!"  
>  Alright, alright, y'all, chill, calm down for a sec. This chapter is... shall we call it... a 'teaser' for the next chapter where Harry, predictably, goes to King's Cross. Wow!  
> I know I said in the last chapter that King's Cross would be this chapter but I decided, "Hey, you know what's loads of fun? Torturing my readers!" And decided to post this first part first and then the rest of the chapter (which actually looks like a chapter) a little later, maybe 12 hours or so? I'm not actually that eager to post it all at once - a good piece of literature is meant to be savoured, not downed in seconds like a glass of water on a hot day.  
> So, next chapter? _King's Cross!_


	6. King's Cross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure what happened, but something weird happened and I'm not really sure whether I managed to post the last chapter or not? Apparently it posted but then it also saved a draft and I may have accidentally deleted the chapter and the comments on it. Oops, sorry, but I'm still new to this.  
> To the person who left me a lovely comment: Thank you! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.  
> To the one who called me an evil bastard: I kept my promise though! Look, I said (like 12 hours ago) I would post _King's Cross_ , so here it is.

Uncle Vernon took her to King’s Cross. 

“Now, Petunia said you had to run at a wall, or something, so make sure to do that.” 

Wondering whether the man had finally lost his mind, Harry nodded along, “Okay.”

“Now off you go,” he said, grinning, “Ten months, ten months without the brat! Whoo!”

“I’m not a brat, you _walrus_!” hissed Harry. She would regret this, but hey, she wouldn’t regret it for another ten months.

Uncle Vernon glared at her. Harry sent the nearby constable a charming smile, and he smiled back, his eyes sliding over to Vernon, who quickly relaxed his expression.

“See you in ten months, Harry, take care,” said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, “You’ll pay for that, girl.”

“Well, adios, see you hopefully never, dear uncle,” Harry pranced off (as best one could prance while pushing a trolley.) Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her uncle walk off in a huff, muttering about young upstarts and annoying nieces.

She looked at her ticket. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? “Run at a wall”? She counted three pillars between each platform… logic dictated that the platform must be the one closest to 10. Run at a wall. Harry navigated her trolley towards the the pillar in the middle, and observed as a boy with dark hair and a blue tie carefully leaned up against the third pillar and then vanished. _Run at a wall_ , she thought bitterly, _bet Vernon made that one up just to land me in trouble_. 

She steered her trolley towards the pillar and copied the boy from before, leaning up against the wall. The wall vanished, and she almost lost her balance as she emerged onto the station.

**A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind her and saw a** **wrought-iron** **archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. She had done it.**

**Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the** **babble** **and the scraping of heavy trunks.**

**The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat.**

Finding a more empty carriage, Harry attempted to heave her trunk onto the train, grunting as she struggled to lift it even an inch.

“Need a hand?” said somebody.

“Sure,” said Harry, just glad to have somebody else help. The other person pulled up the other side of the trunk and helped Harry put it aboard the train, as they said, “Merlin, why didn’t you just get someone to put a feather-light charm on it?”

“I dunno,” said Harry, and _what the hell is a feather-light charm_ flickered through her thoughts as she looked up at the person who had helped her.

It was a boy. He was about her age, and had clear, sparkling brown eyes and hair the colour of toffee. An easygoing smile graced his features as he held his hand out.

“Charlus Potter,” he said.

* * *

 

Well if it wasn’t just her luck.

“Harry,” Harry said, wondering just how long she could delay this. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she took a deep breath and said, “Harry Potter.”

The two stared at each other. Harry found herself analyzing every detail she could about this boy — how he blinked at her, completely at a loss, how his hands immediately flew behind his back, how he glanced nervously off to the side. She felt her eyes start to water, for some reason, and blinked hard, trying to banish the tears. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. I will not let them see me cry, no, I will not. If I cry now I will take away everything Aunt Petunia has done for me, any last scraps of pride that I have. I will not cry, I will not cry —_

“Oh. Well,” Charlus said, his expression changing quickly to something akin to confusion. His eyebrows scrunched together before blurting out, “I thought your name was Harriet?”

Harry laughed awkwardly as his eyes widened, as though in shock that he had voiced the thought out loud.

“I go by Harry,” said Harry, deciding to skip the details, “Harriet’s a stuffy old name. Would _you_ want to be known as Harriet?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, as Harry tried to think of something to say to her estranged twin brother, while simultaneously staring at the way that his hair moved in the drafty station, and glowed golden as the weak sunlight hit it. Was this the Boy-Who-Lived? Was this the boy who her parents had abandoned her for?

No. She shouldn’t think like this. It wasn’t his fault that they had abandoned her, but she couldn’t help but feel a tick of resentment towards him, no matter how likeable he seemed. 

He was supposed to be her _brother_. Her _twin_ brother. In another universe, she would’ve grown up with him as her other half, with him as the one she shared all her secrets with, who she stayed up talking late with. At least, that’s what it seemed like with all the twins she had met at school - an automatic best-friend by birth, a default companion. Always by your side, no matter what.

 _Doesn’t that sound nice?_ whispered something in her mind. _Don’t you want that?_

 _No point in thinking about it_ , she figured, _since_ _it will never happen. Once his parents about me, they will make sure I have nothing to do with him ever again. Why is he even talking to me now?_

 Her thoughts, and the answer to that question, were interrupted when another boy appeared, curling his arm around Charlus’.

“Hey, Char, where’ve you been? Aunt Lily and Uncle James have been driving themselves spare looking for you,” said the boy. He had a round face, straight blonde hair and an overall cheery look about him. He turned to Harry, noticing her, and elbowed Charlus in the side. “Already found yourself a girlfriend, eh?”

The reaction was immediate. Harry unsure of whether to laugh or cringe, made a strangled-sort of noise as Charlus shoved the boy off of him, scowling. Harry felt her cheeks heat up, embarrassed.

“Well, I’ll just be going,” she said, deciding to let the two sort things out themselves, “See you at Hogwarts,” she added uncertainly, glancing between the two boys before darting on the train and dragging her trunk along as fast as she could to escape to embarrassment of _that sound_. The first compartment she found was empty, so she immediately occupied it. She heard conversation flow through the open window, and sank down into the seat, not wanting to be seen.

“Bloody hell, Char, what was that for?”

“Nev, that was the most inappropriately timed joke ever.”

“What? Who was that girl?”

“I… Look, my parents are coming over. I’ll explain later, okay?”

“Alright, mate.”

“Charlus James Potter! Where have you been? Your father and I have been looking for you for ten minutes! Do you remember what happened the last time you wandered off alone?” A woman’s voice, slightly higher pitched as she berated her son. Harry’s heart pounded painfully in her chest as she heard her speak, and the name flew at her at the speed of light - Lily Potter.

“Yes, mother, I remember. The press came and harassed me.”

“Your mother is right, you know, there’s all sorts of folk around here. You should really be more careful, Char.” A deeper voice, male. An undercurrent of playfulness at the end. Her heart picked up speed in her chest, and it felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs as she sat there in the train carriage, feeling as though she had ran for hours on end. 

James Potter.

The two didn’t sound like inherently horrible people, but you could never know, really. Harry knew loads of people who thought Vernon Dursley was a wonderful, upstanding citizen, namely the entirety of Privet Drive.

She felt tears gather up in her eyes, and didn’t bother trying to hold them back, instead shuffling to other end of the carriage and pulling her legs up onto the seat. She buried her face into her knees, and sniffled.

“Alright, alright, I get it, but you and Mum won’t always be around for me, will you?”

“And what exactly do you mean by _that_ , young man?”

“Um, like… I’m going to Hogwarts, right? And the two of you won’t be there. Then what?”

“Then you hex anyone who looks at you silly.”

“James!”

“Sorry, Lils. Just kidding, Char. Don’t hex anyone unless their name is Snivellu—”

“James.” Lily’s voice took on a dangerous tone here, daring her husband to go further.

“Sorry, Lils.”

“Now, Char, don’t go hexing anyone. Anyone does something nasty to you, you go straight to your head of house, alright?”

“Yes, Mum,” Charlus said tiredly, “Can you leave me be now?”

“Alright, alright, let a woman worry over her son, won’t you? I won’t see you for another three and a half months, let me enjoy my time while I have it.”

Harry could hear Charlus’ exasperated sigh before he spoke again. “C’mon, Nev, let’s go find a compartment before all the good ones are taken.”

“I’ll come too!” James said, “Can’t have you sitting with any Death Eater spawn, can we?”

Harry’s heart started quickening its pace again. Oh no, what if he came aboard and saw _her_ , then what? Her life would be over, she would burst into tears - no, she would pretend to be someone else - no, that wouldn’t work, either, Aunt Petunia told her she looked a whole lot like both of her parents, and she had seen the resemblance herself just by looking at Charlus, so —

Thankfully, Charlus said, “Next carriage over, this one’s got too many people in it.” He was lying! There was hardly anyone in the carriage, but Harry appreciated it nevertheless. She didn’t fancy confronting her biological parents today — or ever, really. She had always thought that the day she met her parents again, she would stand proudly and tell them off with conviction, with no emotion in her voice as she explained what she thought of them. But that wasn’t true, and it wasn’t possible. Now, upon the realization that the mere sound of their voices could bring her to tears, she wondered if she could _ever_ face them again.

Lily and James didn’t question their son, and Harry heard their voices fade away. She waited for her breathing to settle again, and wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve before straightening up in her seat and looking out the window at the swarm of students and families.

 _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about them._ She watched as a blonde girl with pigtails hugged her mother, and glanced away quickly, sighing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da... King's Cross!  
> I originally wrote this scene without the descriptions of how it emotionally affected Harry, then I read it again and I was like "WHAT?" because you don't just go through something like that and don't feel anything at all. So, how did I do with the angst?  
> I originally planned on either a) leaving that chapter at "Charlus Potter" but then decided that was a touch too evil and thought I would b) interweave it with the next chapter but eventually decided to c) leave it as is, because everyone would just skip past those bits to see what happened with Harry and Charlus.  
> Anyways, what do you think of Charlus? And Neville? And my depictions of Lily and James?  
> (Yes, I know, James' father's name was _not_ Charlus, but let's just pretend he was named after his father's favourite uncle or something, okay? )  
>  By the way, the bolded bits are Rowling bits, as in I did not write them bits.  
> Next chapter: Hm, actually, I'm not giving you a name, because it would be a dead giveaway for what the next chapter is about. So let's just go with  
> Next chapter: You'll see (in the next day or two!)


	7. Exciting eleven-o'clock endeavours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's eleven-o'clock, and somewhere in Britain, a household is stirring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I would update in "a day or two"? Oops...  
> Well, nobody dumped a bunch of hate and complaints into my inbox, which either means:  
> a. you're all too polite to tell me  
> b. you don't care enough to tell me  
> c. you don't like this story enough to bother  
> Let's pretend it's option a., although more likely than not you all forgot about it (like I did) or you don't bother with author's notes (makes sense tbh).  
> Anyways, on to the chapter! I hope you enjoy!

Ginny was throwing rocks at his door.

“R _on_ , R _on_ , wake up or we’ll be g _one_ ,” she said in a sing-song voice, “You want to meet Charlus Potter just as much as me, stop fooling around.”

Ron opened the door just as Ginny was throwing a pebble. It hit him on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” said Ginny sheepishly, “I didn’t think you’d _actually_ open the door.”

“What, did you expect me to keep sleeping while you destroyed my door?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Ron blinked. “I need to get ready.”

Ginny nodded. “You do that.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ron was hurriedly dragging his trunk down the stairs, as his mother screeched in the kitchen at his twin brothers. Ginny darted down with him, Scabbers’ cage in her arms.

“No time, no time, no time,” Molly Weasley was waving her wand feverishly as she whispered under her breath. Around the kitchen, slices of bread were being cut up and made into sandwiches, corned beef sliding in-between slices as pieces of aluminum foil swallowed them up. Some other slices were being levitated onto a platter, a knife buttering and jamming them hastily as five plates drifted down onto the table and collided noisily.

Catching sight of Ron and Ginny, she said loudly, “Eat, eat, eat!”

Wasting no time to marvel at their mother’s display of magic, the pair quickly sat down and grabbed the pre-made slices of toast, shoving them into their mouths furiously as the clock rang out, “Ten forty-five, ten forty-five, better move fast, don’t want to miss the Hogwarts Express!”

Fred and George, still in their pyjamas, were hastily dusting crumbs off of their shirts as they got up and sprinted up the stairs.

Percy, dressed impeccably as per usual, glanced at his mother and said, “Anything I can do to help, Mother?”

She shook her head, then froze, looking at Ron. “You’ve already packed your trunk, right?”

“Of course,” Ron said, “Look, it’s right there.” He pointed at the trunk, which was sitting next to the fireplace with Scabbers’ cage.

His mother spared a second to smile at him. “Good,” she said, and then turned to Percy, “Please go check if the twins have been as responsible.”

Percy nodded pompously and went up the stairs as pompously and quickly as possible.

Ron and Ginny gazed at him in wonder. “How can someone _walk_ pompously?” Ginny asked.

“You just strut and look at the ceiling, I suppose,” Ron replied before turning to Ginny.

“Let’s go wait by the fireplace.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ginny said, brushing the crumbs off of her fingers.

They stood by the fireplace, dawdling and making small talk while their mother organized packages of sandwiches. Rushing over, she shoved one in Ron’s hands. “Lunch,” she said.

Then Percy came sprinting down the stairs, and rushed over to them, skidding to a halt in front of Mum, panting in a very un-pompous way. “Mum! Mum! Fred and George — they haven’t — they haven’t—”

“They haven’t _what_ , Percy?” Ron’s mother said impatiently as she forced a package of sandwiches into his hand, “Spit it out!”

“They haven’t even started packing yet!” he yelled. Her eyes went wide, and she gave a shriek of fury before flying up the stairs.

Ron and Ginny glanced at each other, and then at Percy. “Are we gonna make it on time, Perce?” asked Ron.

“I’m sure we will,” said Percy, once again pompous, “Mum will sort them out. Very powerful she is, mum.”

“Have _you_ got _your_ trunk packed, Percy?” asked Ginny sweetly.

“Why, yes, of course I have,” he replied, taken aback.

“Then… where is it?” she replied in the same innocent tone.

Eyes widening, Percy too fled up the stairs.

“Ding dong ding dong!” yelled the clock, “Ding dong ding dong! It’s nearly eleven o’clock! Hogwarts Express! Hogwarts Express! Ten fifty-five!”

“Merlin, I’m going to miss the train,” said Ron miserably.

“No you won’t,” said Ginny, “Don’t you believe Percy the Prefect? He _said_ we’d make it.”

Ron snickered. “Percy the Prefect.”

Just then, the twins came tumbling down the stairs with their trunks, Mum yelling behind them.

“Ron! Ginny! Light the fire! Let’s go!”

Ron and Ginny looked at each other cluelessly. “Light the fire?” they said simultaneously.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Mum said exasperatedly. Her wand was out in a flash. She pointed at the fireplace and said, “ _Incendio_!”

A fire shot out of her wand. Percy frowned, “Wait, Mum, that’s—”

“This is _no_ time to talk about magical theory, Percy, let’s _go_! You first!” 

Percy took some Floo Powder in his hand and threw it at the fire. It dispersed, and the fire turned a strange lemony green.

“How many times do I have to tell you to throw the powder properly!” said Mum.

Percy took another pinch and the fire turned puce green. “Close enough,” said Mum.

“King’s Cross!” said Percy, dragging his trunk and holding Hermes’ cage in his hand. He disappeared in a flash. 

“Fred! George!”

The twins, too, yelled, “King’s Cross!” and vanished.

“Ron! You first, then Ginny!”

Ron took the floo powder in his hand and chucked it precisely at the fire. “King’s Cross!”

And dragging his trunk behind him, he stepped in.

After a disorienting trip, he was spat out at King’s Cross station, where Percy helped him to his feet hurriedly. He glanced at his watch. “Ten fifty-eight! Come on, Ron, Mum and Ginny will just have to catch up. Fred and George are already gone.”

Ron followed Percy, twisting through the crowd and sidestepping people.

Percy, keeping a firm grip on Ron’s shoulder, navigated them to the entrance pillar. He leaned against it casually, and Ron mimicked him. They fell through the barrier.

“Let’s get your trunk on the train first and then we can worry about Mum and Ginny,” said Percy. He and Ron lifted their trunks onto the train and stepped back out, just in time to be met with Mum and Ginny.

Ginny was holding Scabbers’ cage. She thrust it into his hands. “You forgot him, you doofus.”

“Oops,” said Ron. 

His mother engulfed him in a hug, and then Percy. “Alright, make sure to be responsible students and good people. I want you to have a _good time_ at Hogwarts, hear?”

“Yes Mum,” the boys replied dully. Ginny shot Ron an easygoing grin. He sent it back.

Fred and George materialized. “Hey Mum—”

“Sorry about that—”

“We super duper promise—”

“It won’t happen again.”

They flashed their strongest puppy eyes at her, and she sighed. 

“You’ll forget that by next year, I assure you.”

“Of course—”

“Not. You have—”

“Too little—”

“Faith in us.”

Molly squeezed them both. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you two stay out of trouble?”

“Probably,” said Percy cynically. Mum glared at him. He cowered.

Fred and George shot her their most innocent looks.

“Whyever would you—”

“Say that?”

The Hogwarts Express tooted loudly, and they quickly boarded as it started to move.

“Bye Mum! Bye Ginny!”

Ginny waved back, Mum’s arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t be too upset, Gin! We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!” yelled one of the twins.

Ginny’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Ew! Why would I want that?” she asked, walking along with the train. It sped up, and she started skipping, until it sped up more and more and she had to sprint to keep up. Ron reached out and she touched his hand for a moment before the speed of the train was too much, and she slowed down. Ron thought he could see her eyes shining a bit through her laughter. He waved at her. She waved back. Then the train took a turn and she was out of sight.

Ron was feeling a bit teary himself, but he knew that Fred and George would never let him live it down if he started crying now.

Whatever. He could always write to Ginny. Besides, it was only ten months. She’d be with him at Hogwarts next year.

(But it wasn’t quite the same, was it? A letter would take an eternity to respond to in comparison to talking. Fred and George were lucky to be twins so they could go to Hogwarts at the same time.)

“See ya, little bro’,” said one of the twins. The other ruffled his hair and they skipped off.

Ron walked along the train, instantly finding a good compartment. There was only one person in it, a girl with rumpled, messy black hair, who was looking out the window.

“Hey, d’you mind if I sit here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1/2. Part 2 will come up... who knows? Eventually. One day. (Hint: If you leave a comment, it instantly fuels my creative juices!)  
> So here we leave off with dear Ron Weasley on the Express, about to enter a cabin with someone very familiar...  
> Also, yes, this fanfiction will include Ron. Let's see, did I put that in the tags? Yes. So don't be surprised.  
> No Weasley-bashing will happen in this fic - or anyone-bashing, for that matter. It's good to appreciate characters wholly rather than just hating on them for stupid reasons like "they're breaking apart my OTP!" and "they did this bad thing once!"  
> In this fic, you may notice that Ron is... a lot closer to Ginny than he seems to be in canon. Why? I'm not sure entirely, either, but it has something to do with the fact that Charlus Potter has been a public figure for the past ten years and they've both known about him, and even seen him once on occasion. It's a ripple affect. I'll figure it out later.   
> I don't think I explained about Neville last chapter. You may notice that he is quite different from canon, and you'll find out why later.  
> We're sort of coming to the end of the pre-written content here, and I think after the next chapter it'll all be live writing. I'll try to keep up the quality of my work, but I will probably be prone to disappearing for a week or two (although, you should be used to that now, right?)  
> So, my dear lovely 50+ (!!!) subscribers, I have a question for you:  
> Why is the Harry Potter fandom so quiet?  
> On my other fic, which has less words, less subscriptions, less kudos, and less bookmarks, there are 25 comment threads. On this fic, however, there are only 4. Why? Is it simply because the other fandom is smaller, and more closely knit than the (admittedly enormous) Harry Potter fandom? Or is there some other reason for it?  
> Anyways, if you'd like to leave a comment, I'd be overjoyed, of course. Or shoot me a message on tumblr if you've got any queries or complaints.  
> Next chapter: H-o-g-w-a-r-t-s "Express Yourself"


	8. The Friendship Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, (checks Stats) 65 subscribers and other amazing people! I've got a reason to celebrate: WIP just passed 100 kudos! Yay! *confetti and party horns* I haven't got anything special for it except this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

The girl looked up. She had captivating, emerald green eyes which were slightly pink. Ron didn’t bother asking - considering he had felt a bit like crying after leaving the station, too.

“No,” said the girl. Ron frowned, a bit offended. She hastily added, “No, I don’t mind if you sit here.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, sliding into the compartment and sitting across from her.

“My name’s Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter,” said the girl.

Ron felt his eyes widen. “Harry Potter as in-”

“Yes,” said Harry, holding a frustrated air about her, “Harry Potter as in the winner of the 1990 British Omelette Competition. I am so sick of people asking me whether or not I am sure I am Harry Potter.”

“What?” said Ron, confused, “No, that’s not what I meant at-”

“She’s tricking you,” Ron turned and looked at the entryway, where a girl with bushy hair was standing. “The winner of 1990 British Omelette Competition was Polly Fernandez.”

“I do make a mean omelet though, and wow, I was so sure I was the only person who ever watched that show,” said Harry, smiling at the girl. “And… you are?”

“Hermione Granger,” said the girl primly. “Harry Potter. You don’t look like a boy to me.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m not,” said Harry, “I just go by Harry.”

“Sure,” said Hermione in a tone that indicates that she _clearly_ knew better, “Any relation to Charlus Potter?”

“Any of your business?” Harry said to her in a snarky tone. The girl looked slightly taken back.

“Of course not, my bad,” said Hermione, her superiority not as evident anymore. She sent Ron a level gaze.

Ron, who had so far been watching their conversation silently, piped up, “Ron Weasley.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“Well, have either of you got any idea which house you’re going to?” asked Ron, scrambling for good conversation topics.

Hermione sat down next to him, and as she opened her mouth again he noticed that her front teeth were quite large. “Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sound best to me. Ravenclaw, because that’s where all the clever people go, and Gryffindor because that’s where Albus Dumbledore went. And Professor McGonagall. She’s the one who gave me my letter, you know.” She looked up eagerly at the two of them. “What about you?”

“I didn’t get _my_ letter hand-delivered,” said Ron, his eyebrows scrunching, “Why did you?”

“I reckon it’s because my parents aren’t magical,” replied Hermione.

“Ah,” said Ron, understanding, “Muggleborn, then?”

“If that’s what it’s called,” Hermione said, her nose wrinkling.

“Professor Snape delivered my letter,” said Harry, “I’m not muggleborn, but I’m muggle-raised, so close enough, ain’t it?”

“My brothers say Professor Snape’s an awful teacher,” said Ron, thinking of Fred and George’s rants about the teacher, “Real nasty and biased against Gryffindors, ‘cause he’s head of Slytherin.”

“Really?” Harry tilted her head to the side, “He didn’t seem so bad when I met him.”

Ron shrugged. “That’s just what my brothers told me,” he said carefully, “I’m not saying it’s true. In fact, it might just be a flat out lie. My brothers love playing pranks on me.”

“Fantastic,” Hermione said in a dull tone, “But neither of you have told me which house you think you’ll go to yet.”

“Gryffindor, probably,” Ron shrugged nonchalantly, “It’s where the rest of my family’s gone so far, so I’ll probably go there too.”

“Rest of your family?” Hermione twisted her brow, “Can’t be too many, can it? You can always break the trend.”

Ron gave Hermione a flippant look, “If both of my parents and all five of my brothers have gone to Gryffindor, it’s a pretty fair bet I’ll go there too.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh. Anymore siblings, then?”

“Little sister named Ginny,” said Ron, supposing that naming his sister as his best friend would make him look lot lamer than he wanted to appear, “And you two?”

“Single child,” said Hermione, “For now.” Ron glanced at Harry curiously. She shared a last name with the Potters, but she had said she was muggle-raised and had avoided Hermione’s admittedly intrusive question about Charlus Potter.

“Technically not a single child,” said Harry, sidestepping the curiosity in Ron and Hermione’s eyes, “I live with my aunt, uncle, and cousin.”

Ron was slightly disappointed, but he understood that she was hardly going to tell all our her secrets to two people she had just met.

“I don’t know what house I’ll be in,” said Harry, “My godfather said I was a safe bet for all four.”

“Cool,” said Hermione, “I’ve always wanted to know someone brave, smart, loyal, and cunning.”

Harry’s mouth shaped itself into an O. “And I’ve always wanted to know someone with the same sense of humour as me.”

The girls looked into each other’s eyes and burst out laughing. 

“And I’ve personally always wanted to know why mince pie doesn’t have minced meat in it,” he blurted out.

The girls fell silent for a moment and then dissolved into another round of laughter.

* * *

 

After the trio had finished laughing and bought snacks, an unwanted visitor appeared.

“Have any one of you seen Charlus Potter?” said the boy. He had pale skin and a pointed face. His hair was platinum blond and he regarded them with regal expression on his face. A Malfoy, no doubt.

“I think he’s in the next carriage over,” said Harry, but the boy was already eyeing Ron up with a look in his eye. Ron glared at him.

“ **No need to ask who you are. My father told me that all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford** ,” said the boy snobbishly. Ron felt the blood rush to his face. The boy turned his eyes on Harry and Hermione. Ron was about to get up and punch the git when Harry cut in.

“Did your father also tell you what ‘manners’ were?” she said in a tone of great curiosity. “Clearly not. Or else you would be using some right now.”

She turned to Hermione with an exasperated look on her face, “He comes into our compartment, doesn’t even _bother_ to introduce himself, and then starts insulting Ron for no reason.  And he has the nerve to ask us to tell him where random students are. Honestly, some people are _so rude_.”

The boy looked so stunned at this that he stumbled over his next words, “I wasn’t—no it’s that—like, some people—some people don’t deserve manners.”

“Some people don’t deserve manners?” shrieked Hermione.

“Why not?” asked Harry. “Why doesn’t Ron deserve manners?”

“Because he’s a blood traitor,” said the boy in an uppity voice.

Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances. “A blood what?” said Harry.

The boy’s face twisted. “Mudbloods!” He said angrily, and was clearly about to slam the door and storm away when Ron, fed up with this small minded pureblood bigot, got up and swung his fist at him.

“How _dare_ you use those kind of words around people, you pureblood _snob_!”

The boy ducked from Ron’s punch, and ran away shrieking at the top of his lungs.

“Coward!” called Ron after him. “Can’t even swing a punch back!”

He sat back down, a grumpy look about him. “I know who he was,” he said, “That’s a Malfoy, no doubt. They’re the most notorious family of Death Eaters around.”

“Death Eaters?!” said Hermione, “What’s that?”

“Followers of You-Know-Who,” said Ron.

“What a stupid name, _Death Eaters_ ,” mused Harry.

“Well who wants to talk about rude stuck-up pureblood “Death Eater” snobs anyways,” said Hermione, “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I think it’s about time for lunch,” said Harry. Hermione nodded vigourously.

“I’ve already got mine — my mum packed me some sandwiches,” Ron said miserably, pulling the lumpy aluminum foil package out of his jumper. “Ugh - corned beef. I hate corned beef. But she made them in a rush, so I guess she didn’t remember.”

“Really?” Hermione said, inching uncomfortably close to Ron. “Did she make it with magic? Did she conjure it?”

“You can’t conjure food,” Ron said to her. She frowned, and he quickly continued.

“She multitasked,” Ron explained, “She was doing wandless magic of the cooking kind, levitating knives to spread butter and jam over toast, and cutting slices of bread and levitating corned beef between them, that sort of thing.”

“Cool,” said Harry, grinning.

“Yeah, she’s a powerful witch, my mum,” Ron said proudly, “She could be an Auror if she wanted.”

“An Aurr?” said Hermione. “What’s an… _Auroar_?”

“It’s like a magic,” Ron paused thinking back to his father’s lectures about staying out of trouble in the village, “Plees-man?”

“Policeman,” corrected Hermione, “That’s cool! What does your mum do?”

“She takes care of us,” said Ron, “At least, she did. Having seven children can’t be easy, you know. But I suppose she’ll get a job or something once Ginny, my little sister, comes to Hogwarts.”

Hermione nodded, interested.

The compartment door slid open, and this time it was a portly old witch with a snack cart. “Snacks?”

* * *

 

After Harry bought out the entire snack cart, Ron unwrapped his sandwiches, grumbling. Harry, noticing his sullen expression, picked up a sweet and turned to him.

“I’ll swap you for one of these things,” she said brightly, “I _love_ corned beef!”

“Thanks,” said Ron. He handed her a sandwich and took the sweet in her hand - a Chocolate Frog. He glanced up at Hermione, who was looking very conflicted as she stared down at the sweets.

Ron bit off the head of the wriggling frog, and turned over the card. “Dumbledore! Darn it. I’ve already got about twelve of him,” he turned to Harry, “Want it?”

“They’re like trading cards?” asked Harry, tilting her head to the left in curiosity.

“Yeah, something like that, I suppose,” Ron said, handing it to her.

He looked at Hermione. “Is something wrong?”

“My parents would kill me if I ate sweets,” she said, frowning.

“Why?”

“They’re dentists,” said Hermione.

“They clean teeth,” Harry told Ron after he still looked confused, “Dental hygiene, you know.”

“There are spells for that, though,” Ron said.

“Not in the Muggle world, there aren't,” said Hermione, looking slightly offended, “Anyways, I haven’t anything to trade you.”

“Consider it an ‘welcome to the wizarding world’ gift from the Weasleys,” said Ron, handing her a sandwich, “That is, if you like corned beef.”

Hermione’s stomach grumbled. “Well, I do now,” said the bushy-haired girl sheepishly, “Thanks, Ron.”

“No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The British Omelette Competition is entirely made up. At least, I think it is?  
> What else? Oh, yes - this was the last chapter with pre-written bits in it. I have a general plan on where to go from here, so fear not! I will continue updating.  
> By the way, I'm not sure if you can tell, but I really hate Draco Malfoy. At least, in the first couple of books. He's an interesting character nearing the end of the series, but right now he's just a prejudiced git whose parents are trash. He's going to continue being one of the 'little evils' (like how Snape and Draco are in canon, whereas Voldemort was the 'big threat'.)  
> Bullying is a terrible thing to do to someone, though, and you'll see how that affects the characters here.  
> Next chapter: "The Big, Friendly Giant"

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is cinnamon-roll-scorpius.tumblr.com if you've got any queries. Or if you just want to talk about HP, you know, that's cool too.  
> cross-posted on fanfiction.net with the username Evana Black


End file.
